The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “Only me. Verik goes free. They will need him, if they have to enter the Plateaus unseen.”

  Korv shook his head, a single sharp motion from left to right. “You know I cannot do this. After what you have done… how do I trust you? We risk much, if the highlander goes free.”

  “Father.” A voice from above. A vine unravelled from the trees at the edge of the clearing. Azra slid down from the canopy.

  Korv glanced back at his daughter. Azra, this is not the time, he signed. You should not be down here.

  But Azra didn’t back down. You have to do as she asks, she signed. I believe her. These highlanders were ready to fight to protect her, and the boy she spoke of is right in front of us. If she is right, if we can stop the purges, how can we ignore it?

  Even surrounded by highlanders and arguing for the future of her people, Zerill felt an invisible fist release its grip on her heart. She’d become so used to the tension she’d barely noticed it was there, barely realized how badly she needed someone to believe her. Needed Azra to believe her.

  “Please, Korv,” Zerill said. “Listen to her. This is the most important thing we will ever do. If it means breaking an oath to save our people, it is a small price.”

  “A highlander has seen the Kinhome.” Korv spread his hands. “I see… some truth in what you say, but if I do not bring him back, that is all the Kinmeet will hear. They fear what he knows, what he might do. And they are right to fear. I will not let him go free if it changes nothing.”

  Eian Gryston answered before Zerill could. “Take me instead.”

  “What? No!” Josen lurched in the grip of the hunter who held his arms. “Eian, you don’t have to do that!”

  “I’m sorry Josen,” Gryston said sadly, “but I believe I do.” This was the most Zerill had heard him speak in the past two days. Now, though, he stood tall, and looked at Korv with clear eyes. “Take me. I will not fight you. One highlander for another. One less threat for you to fear. As you said, I have killed as many of the… the Abandoned as any man alive has. Let me face judgement for that. Let me prove to your people that we act in good faith.”

  Korv looked from Gryston to his daughter to Zerill, and he nodded, once. “The Kinmeet will listen if we bring them Eian Gryston. For this… I will trade the prince. Do the highlanders agree?” His voice didn’t betray him, but Zerill knew Korv—she could see the eagerness in his eyes, in the way his shoulders tensed. When the purges came, it was the Heartspears more than any other kin who fell under Storm Knight blades; there was little that they would not trade to bring the lord general to justice. She could understand that. She was a Lighteye, but she wouldn’t weep for the old man either.

  Falyn Morne pushed through the circle of her men to approach Gryston. Just outside the reach of the hunters’ spears, she sheathed her blade, and put up her hands to show she meant no harm. “Eian, you can’t do this. I… we need you. The knights in the Plateaus will follow you above anyone else.”

  “That was before…” Gryston swallowed, but didn’t stop. “Before I opened Benedern’s throat.”

  A murmur ran through the knights at that, and Morne’s eyes widened. “What? What happened?”

  “I killed him, Falyn,” said Gryston. “That’s what happened. He knew about the swamplings, about Josen. He as much as told me that he helped kindle the Outer Duchy Rebellion. He was a part of everything, from the very beginning. And I… I killed him for it.” His voice wavered slightly there, but his eyes were hard. “I am as much a liability as an asset now. The man who murdered the high chastor. Whatever men would still follow me after word spreads may yet follow you in my name, but for the rest… For those who don’t know what side to choose—and I think that will be a great many—my presence would only add to their doubts. Better if I am gone. And these people deserve some kind of justice for… for what I’ve done to them. This is the best thing I can do.”

  “No,” said Morne. “I don’t accept that. We can’t just leave you to the swamplings. I don’t care what you did, you don’t owe them anything. We were at war! Have you forgotten the things they’ve done to… to innocent people?”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, Falyn,” Eian said. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but… it’s something I need to do.”

  Morne didn’t seem to have an answer; she only stared at him helplessly for a moment, and then looked to Shona for aid.

  Shona spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t… he may be right, Falyn. Castar won’t keep the high Chastor’s death a secret, and right now getting Josen and Eroh to the Plateaus has to come before anything else.”

  “What are you doing?” Josen tried to yank his arms free, and failed again. “Don’t use me to justify this!”

  Shona hung her head. “I wish it was different. But if this is how we leave here alive… Eian, is this really what you want?”

  Gryston nodded. “It is.”

  “Then…” Shona spread her hands helplessly. “We can’t let them take you, Josen. Not now. There’s too much at stake. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  “Are you?” Josen kept struggling against his captor, although Zerill didn’t know what he meant to do if he pulled free. “You know what they’ll do to him! How can you—”

  “Stop it!” Gryston snapped. “This is my decision, Josen, and it is already made. I have to go. If we fight here, people will die on both sides. You and the boy must reach the Plateaus. I won’t see you lost in the Swamp. Not again.”

  Morne peered into Eian’s eyes, ignoring the spears levelled at her. “You old fool,” she said, so soft Zerill could barely hear it. “You… you really mean to do this, don’t you?”

  “I do,” said Gryston. “It’s the only way, Falyn. You said that to me not long ago, and I listened then. Now I’m asking you to do the same. If it helps, call it an order.”

  “I suppose it does.” Morne took a trembling breath, and then turned to Korv. “So be it, then. Take him. We won’t stop you.”

  Korv signalled, and the woman holding Gryston shoved him into motion.

  “Wait!” Josen shouted. Gryston glanced back as he was led away; when Josen saw the resignation in the old knight’s eyes, the fight seemed to go out of him. “Just… God Above, just try to come back alive, Eian. Please.”

  Gryston just smiled sadly, and looked away.

  There was a tense silence as the Abandoned regrouped on one side of the clearing, and the knights on the other. As soon as they were released, Josen and Shona ran to join Morne and her men; the hunters drew in around Gryston as if to keep the highlanders from taking him back. Zerill held her breath, waiting for someone to point a weapon in the wrong direction and shatter the short-lived truce.

  No one did. That, as much as anything she’d seen since she’d met Josen, gave Zerill hope. For the first time in centuries, her people and the Storm Knights had met, and spoken, and come to an agreement without a drop of blood spilled. If that was possible, anything was.

  “Zerill,” Korv said at last, and beckoned to her. She strode past the knights and crossed the clearing to join her people. It wasn’t what she’d imagined—she’d hoped to see Josen to the end of their journey. But she’d taken him as far as she could. That would have to be enough.

  Eroh broke away from Verik as she drew near, and took her right hand. Her instinct was to pull away, keep her good hand free—the splint on her fingers made her left useless—but she didn’t. Instead, she squeezed the boy’s hand, and smiled down at him.

  When she looked up again, Korv was staring at her face. Did the highlanders do this to you? he signed, and his brow knit angrily.

  Not these ones. Castar. She felt suddenly self-conscious, and half-turned her head to hide her swollen eye. Eroh and Verik go to the Plateaus, she signed. Like we agreed. Korv nodded his assent.

  Eroh was watching their hands, and he looked up at her solemnly. “I can’t come with you?” he asked aloud.

  “No,” said Zerill, and bent to look him in the eye.
“For the sake of our people, you have to go with Josen.”

  “You said you would look after me. You promised. I don’t want to go without you.”

  “I’m sorry, Eroh. I never meant to—”

  Someone touched Zerill’s arm, and she turned to see.

  It was Azra, and there was a determined set to her jaw. I’ll go with him, she signed.

  Korv’s hand moved so suddenly that Zerill might have laughed, if the circumstance had been different. Absolutely not!

  Azra squared her shoulders and set her jaw. Someone needs to make sure this prince keeps his promises, and it can’t be Verik, she signed. A Maker can’t spill blood if he needs to. I’m too young for my voice to mean anything in Kinmeet, but I can do this. I am of age now. And I… I want to try and see what Zerill does in these highlanders, if I can.

  Zerill recognized the look on the girl’s face—Azlin had worn it more than once. That look told her the discussion was over. And when she thought about it, she didn’t hate the idea. She’d been where Azra was, eager for some way to help her people; trying to protect her would just make her more reckless. Better this than sneaking after her father to fight in a purge or the like. It wasn’t exactly safe, but Josen wouldn’t let his highlanders hurt her, and that was a kind of protection most of the Abandoned couldn’t claim.

  And Azra deserved the chance to see the sun for herself.

  Let her go, Korv, Zerill signed. She is right—someone needs to guard our secrets, and the highlanders will need guides who know the Swamp.

  Can there be any doubt that you two share the same blood? Korv threw up his hands. Yes, someone must go. But this is not a task for a Heartspear. We do not belong in the sky.

  I haven’t chosen my kin, Azra signed. I could be a Lighteye, like my mother.

  Korv glanced at the highlanders, and then back to his daughter. Azra, if the Kinmeet will not listen, or the highlanders… It will be easier to climb their mountain than it is to come back down.

  Then you must do what you can to make them listen. Azra’s jaw trembled there; her confidence only went so far. Or will you stop me?

  I… will not. The muscles in Korv’s neck flexed into cords, as if those simple words took a great effort to sign. You are of age. I respect your choice. But Tez and Iktin will see you there, at least. They have been under the sky before. He signed at a man and a woman among his hunters, and they moved to Azra’s side. I will send more to follow in the trees, when we are out of sight. If you need them, you know how to signal for aid. Do not take any risk you do not need to.

  Thank you, Father. Azra looked for a moment as if she might throw her arms around her father’s neck, then seemed to think better of it and only clasped his arm. I promise, I will not disappoint you. Zerill remembered the feeling of that moment—taking on her first responsibility as a woman grown—and she felt a surge of pride for the girl. Azra was young yet; it couldn’t have been easy for her to stand her ground against her father.

  No matter what the Kinmeet decides, I will find a way to come for you, Korv signed.

  Azra smiled at him. I know you will.

  Come then, signed Zerill, and beckoned Azra nearer. If you mean to take care of him, you should be introduced. This is Eroh.

  Azra was taller than Eroh, but not by more than half a head—she didn’t have to stoop to speak with him. Hello, Eroh, she signed. My name is Azra.

  Eroh fell into the sign-speech to answer. I know about you. Zerill told me that I reminded her of you.

  Did she? Azra looked at Zerill.

  I said that his curiosity was like yours, Zerill signed with a slight smile.

  Azra stared at her moment longer, eyes full of all the questions she still might have asked if they’d had just a little bit more time. But they didn’t, so instead she turned back to Eroh, and signed, Well, I would like to see about that for myself. I will keep her promise for her, if you’ll let me.

  Eroh considered that, and then signed, Will you teach me about the Abandoned?

  Azra nodded. If you want me to.

  You can come with me, then. But… He turned his golden eyes to Zerill and tilted his head. You’ll be back, won’t you?

  Zerill drew her knife, and held it out to him hilt first. Take this. It has saved my life many times. You can trust that I will come back for it, if it is in my power.

  With wide eyes, the boy accepted the Maker-forged blade. I’ll keep it safe until you do, he signed.

  I would rather that it keep you safe, while I cannot. Don’t be afraid to use it if you need to. And until we meet again, you can trust Azra and Verik. Zerill squeezed Azra’s shoulder, and gave her a grateful smile. Listen to them—they speak for me.

  Zerill looked across to where the highlanders stood waiting. “You’ll reach the Plateaus faster with guides,” she said. “We know the Swamp better than you do. These three will show you the way.” Azra led Eroh across the clearing to join the knights, with the hunters Tez and Iktin just behind.

  Verik hesitated before following the others, and gave Zerill a searching look. A chance to change her mind.

  Go, she signed to him. I’ll… feel better knowing you’re with them. That wasn’t true, or even close to it. She’d only just got him back; the last thing she wanted was to let him go again. To face the Kinmeet without his support. But he could do far more for Josen than he could for her.

  If that’s what you want, he signed. By the doubt in his eyes, he knew that it wasn’t, but he didn’t argue. He just signed to his cousin, Keep her safe, Korv.

  Wait. Korv motioned to his Maker. Skala. Your spare.

  Skala didn’t look very happy about it—few Makers would be—but she reached behind her back, unhooked a hide flask, and held it out to Verik. The black stains around the neck betrayed its contents. Verik took it and hung it beside his own.

  Watch over my daughter, Korv signed. His daughter—no mention of her relation to Verik. Makers weren’t permitted such bonds.

  Verik nodded his head, looked to Zerill one last time, and turned away. And even though it was what she’d asked for, watching him go, she couldn’t help but wish he’d fought harder to change her mind.

  Korv clasped her shoulder. Come, he signed. He held Gryston by the arm; someone had bound the old man’s wrists. Best if we’re away before this turns for the worse.

  One last thing, Zerill signed, and looked across at the highlanders. At Josen.

  “You’ll do as you promised?” she asked.

  “I will,” Josen said. His eyes flicked toward Gryston and then back to her, but he didn’t ask what he must have wanted to very badly. She was grateful for that. There was nothing she could do for the lord general now, and even asking would have hurt more than it helped.

  “And I will try to convince my people to give what aid we can against Castar.” It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was the best she could offer.

  “If anyone can manage it, you can,” said Josen, though he didn’t sound very hopeful. “Thank you, Zerill. For my life.”

  “Don’t thank me. Earn it.” There was only one thing left to say, then, and after everything she’d gone through to get him there, she was surprised by how little she wanted to say it. It felt something like surrender.

  “Goodbye, Josen,” she said.

  And then she turned away, and followed Korv out of the clearing.

  38. Coming Home

  Josen

  Josen scrabbled up a steep grade of the Queensmount’s slope on his hands and knees, near-blind in the veil of dark fog that surrounded him. Where it touched his skin, the mist condensed into beads that traced slow, slimy paths down his limbs and chest. Moisture invaded every crevice of his body, crept up his nose and into his mouth, between his legs and under his arms. It clung heavy and wet inside his lungs, and every breath was thick with the smell of oily decay, but he fought the urge to cough or gag. Even that much noise would be too high a risk.

  He and the swamplings had parted from Shona and the Storm Knights
—and the road—just below the mist line. In near an hour of climbing, they hadn’t yet broken free of the fog. It had been slow going, so far. The swamplings were experienced climbers, all of them agile and leanly muscled, and if they’d been alone they might have managed something like speed. But they weren’t alone.

  Even with Verik’s deepcraft-carved handholds, Josen had difficulty climbing any but the easiest rises with his one good arm, and Eroh was worse still—he had more stamina than his fragile-looking body suggested, but not by much. Where the cliffs grew too steep, the swamplings took out the same straps they used to climb trees and tied them into makeshift harnesses; the big hunter named Iktin carried Josen fastened to his back while the woman called Tez took Eroh. Verik said it was how they carried children who were too young to climb, which was more than a little bit embarrassing, but it worked and they couldn’t afford to delay.

  They’d crested a cliff not long before, and were making for another. Verik still led the way, a barely visible shadow through the mist just ahead. A shadow that seemed to have found level ground, because it stopped, braced on one knee, and reached a hand down. Josen took it, and pulled himself up onto a relatively flat shelf of rock. As he got to his feet, his head broke the mist-line, and he felt the first stirring of wind against his skin. The veil lifted from his eyes, and suddenly there were stars overhead.

  Goldeyes flapped clear of the mist in a series of short hops, shook the moisture from his feathers, and took flight. He was just visible in the dark, silhouetted by starlight, and Josen traced the little eagle’s path across the sky to the top of the next cliff some fifty feet above. Far beyond that—much farther than he liked—he could make out the dim, distant glow of the Plateaus, oil and gas-light flickering in windows and streetside lamps. And higher still, above the black silhouette of the Godspire, points of silver starlight shone against the night.

  Josen’s body was one deep ache and a layer of foul wetness still coated his skin, but for just a moment, the sight of the stars chased all of it away. Before the Swamp, he’d never fully appreciated how amazing it was to be able to see so far, all the way to the shining lights of the Above; a cycle and more trapped beneath the mist had taught him to long for that view. There had been times in the past turns when he’d feared he would never see the sky again, but even then, he’d always felt it there above him, just as he would have through the clouds on an overcast day. Seeing it again felt like coming home.